Water Wings
by Ripper
Summary: So, just how are a Not-Really-Crawly-More-Like-Slithery demon and an Angel with balsa wood strapped to his wings supposed to survive forty days and nights of flooding, outswim the wrath of a vengeful God and still find time for a drink? (Slash! Ah-haha!)


"And God saw that the wickedness of man was great in the earth, and that every imagination of the thoughts of his heart was only evil continually. And it repented the Lord that he had made man on the earth, and it grieved him at his heart. And the Lord said, I will destroy man whom I have created from the face of the earth; both man, and beast, and creeping thing, and the fowls of the air; for it repenteth me that I have made them. But Noah found grace in the eyes of the Lord..."  
  
  
"...seeing as it's been so long since I did that sort of thing that he's probably forgotten. Besides, I'd call it more "crawling" than "creeping", wouldn't you? Actually, if we're being perfectly honest, I would say "slithering", but you know what I mean- Aziraphale? Are you listening to me?"  
  
"Hmmm?" The angel looked up vaguely. "Oh, yes. I quite agree. Do think perhaps some pumice stone would work better?" He squirmed, fiddling with the straps around his shoulders.   
  
"I mean," continued Crowley unhappily, leaning against the trunk of a nearby tree, "He specifically said 'man', didn't he? I think he did...Angel?"  
  
"Mmm?"  
  
"...what are you *doing*?"  
  
"Oh. You mean these?" Aziraphale gave an embarrassed little smile. "Um, well, I thought it would be best to be prepared. In case things get a little, shall we say, chaotic." Distraught as he was, Crowley caught enough suppressed anxiety in the angel's voice to almost lift his mood. Almost.   
  
"Ah," he smirked. "Just in case Lordy forgets a few of His, shall we say, *lesser* servants down here?"   
  
Aziraphale glared at him coldly, the slight air of camaraderie entirely evaporated. "In case He has more important things to worry about, like wiping abominations such as yourself from the face of His earth." Crowley blinked. He'd obviously hit a nerve somewhere along the line, but was too busy smarting from the angel's sudden attack to take any pleasure in it. A tiny part of him wanted to apologise, maybe return to the amiably one-sided chatter that had filled the past few minutes. Unfortunately, the tiny part lost the vote ten to one and was taken out to the back field and quietly shot (dissenters in the Mind Of Crowley were dealt with harshly and promptly). Crowley grinned toothily, long canines glinting in the afternoon sun.  
  
"And you think that planks of balsa wood strapped to your wings are going to help you survive? Survive the greatest purging this miserable little lump of rock has ever seen? Ha! You'll drown like the rest of 'em." Crowley stopped, and sagged a little. "The rest of *us*," he corrected.   
  
There was an uncomfortable pause. Being Immortal definitely had its perks, the chief of which being...well, that you didn't die (perversely, this was also the downside). However, this seemed to cover more your average "hit by a car" fatality (or in those days, a very fast moving cart indeed) than "Holy vengeance smitey thing that will obliterate all life on this planet. Including yours. We apologise for the inconvenience." So to contemplate Death, actual *Death*, as in "Such and such died today, film at eleven," was a new experience. The silence grew oppressive, and the two tried to avoid each other's gaze.  
  
"I know," said Aziraphale quietly. He shuffled his bare feet in the dirt, sending little swirls of dust into the scorching air. "I just thought; well, it can't hurt to try, can it? I mean, if He's not going to help then...then what else can I do?"  
  
Crowley felt about an inch tall.  
  
"Um. What was it you wanted, Crawly?" Aziraphale sounded just a little friendly, and Crowley's spirits lifted.  
  
"It's Crowley now. And I was just wondering if you had any advice. But I guess we're in the same boat." He smiled bitterly. "Or not, as the case may be."  
  
The angel returned the smile, and shifted awkwardly, trying to adjust his improvised wing extensions. "You shouldn't be so fatalistic, Cra- Crowley. There's still a good chance." Aziraphale ignored the demon's answering snort. "You can help me try these, if you like. I was just about to go test them in the sea, and if they work...well. We may just get through this." He held a hand out to Crowley, who looked sceptically at Aziraphale's encouraging grin for a second before accepting it.  
  
Aziraphale's smile widened and, still grasping the cold, thin hand, took off down a small embankment along the path to the water, dragging a rather startled emissary of Hell behind him.  
  
  
  
  
"Heathcock."  
"Check."  
"Hedgehog."  
"Ow. Check."  
"Hermit crab."  
"Check."  
"Heron."  
"Ummm...Check." Shem ran his finger down the list.  
"Herring."  
"Ch- wait. Dad, what happened to the Herpitiums?"  
"Ham stepped on them."  
"What, both of them?"  
"Yes."  
"Oh. Check, then."  
"Hessian fly?"  
"Check. I hate my life."  
"Shhh...Heterodontus?"  
  
  
  
  
"Angel?"  
  
Crowley peered tentatively over the edge of cliff, careful not to step too close. Below him, the ripples were growing smaller every moment, and the bubbles had stopped a few seconds ago.   
  
"Angel?" His voice sounded pitifully concerned to his own ears. "Angel! Can you hear me?" Crowley swallowed. Bloody stupid angel. Typical. Just when he'd actually been starting to like the daft bugger, he'd gone and drowned himself. Even without needing to breathe. How did *that* work, anyway?  
  
A blast of wind, snap frozen by the sea spray, cut through the sultry air and chilled Crowley to the core. Standing exposed on the cliff top, with the harsh sun beating on his bare back, he suddenly felt terribly alone. Alone, and upset enough to do something very silly. "Well, it's not like anyone's ever going to live long enough find out," he muttered crossly, then took a run up and launched himself headfirst over the edge, a few feathers breaking free from his wings as the breeze ripped through them.  
  
"AAAAAAARRRRRRRRGGGGGHHHHHHHHHsplash!"  
  
From Crowley's previous vantage point, a curious observer could have seen a second set of foaming ripples emanating from a thrashing figure barely visible beneath the waves. Someone with really good eyesight might have picked the extremely cranky expression on the figure's face as its thin limbs churned desperately in the water. And someone with absolutely phenomenal hearing would have picked up a startling array of curse words as the figure realised just how much trouble wings were underwater, and that it didn't know how to swim any better than Aziraphale did.  
  
  
  
"Llama."  
"..."  
"Llama?"  
"...mmnmymn..."  
"Llama! Wake up, Shem!"  
"Ngwha- Oh. Check."  
"Loach."  
"Check. How come Ham and Japheth get to help with the building?"  
"Because. Lobster."  
"Check. Because why?"  
"Because you have the neatest penmanship. Lobworm."  
"What the hell's a lobworm?"  
"How should I know? Just say check."  
"Check. I still don't think it's fair."  
"I never said it was. Locust."  
"Check. I want to go home, Dad."  
"Look, would you rather drown with the rest of them? Loon."  
"No, I don't wa- Loon? Hee. Loon."  
"Quiet."  
"Looooooonnnnn..."  
"It's a type of bird! Now say check!"  
"...check. What about all my friends?"  
"You haven't got any. Lorikeet."  
"I have so! And they're all going to drown! Check!"  
"Well, that's what they get for being evil corruptions and perversions of the way of the Lord. Especially that Jeseme boy with the hair. Lory?"  
"Check. I *like* Jese's hair..."  
  
  
  
There were two sets of tracks: one lot of rather wonky, but oddly purposeful, footprints, and one kind of scrabbly mess left by a dragged something. They didn't lead far from the sea, and already the warm night breeze was erasing the marks. At the end of them, two bedraggled figures were sprawled close together on the soft sand. There was a good deal of exhausted quiet. Eventually, one of the forms sort of wriggled over to the other, thankful that they had retracted their wings, and rather less than thankful that their clothing had been mostly lost along the way.  
  
"Crowley?"  
"Mmgmnmgnm."  
"Crowley?" The voice wavered. "You alright?"  
"Mgmgmbuggroffyebassstard."  
  
Aziraphale grinned, relieved. "Thank goodness. I was beginning to think you were really hurt."  
  
"I *am* really hurt. My guts're full of fishies and my head's full of salt and the bells have only just now stopped ringing-" Crowley broke off as he realised what Aziraphale had just said, and suddenly found that he didn't feel quite so bad, after all. He turned his head to face the angel, barely inches away. "What do you mean, 'thank goodness'?" he asked curiously.   
  
"Oh, I- I suppose I only meant that, well..well, well, you did try and save me, even though I didn't really need it that much- oh," Aziraphale stopped abruptly as he misinterpreted Crowley's bemused look as irritation. "I mean, I know you probably weren't trying to save me or anything like that. I mean, you wouldn't, would you? Being evil and all. I mean, you were probably-"  
  
"-trying to save you," finished Crowley gently.   
  
"..." said Aziraphale.  
  
He had no idea how long they lay like that, a breath away from each other, occasional whispers of a breeze gently stirring their drying hair. What he did remember was Crawly...no, it was Crowley now, wasn't it? Crowley. It suited him rather better. Crawly would always be the uppity, sneaking little serpent who'd caused all that bother. But Crowley...Crowley was funny, and smart, and cynical and sometimes very kind and quite unlike anyone he'd ever met. Not that there had been many. He also had the darkest eyes Aziraphale had ever seen -not at all yellow anymore- and they glowed with dull fire in his pale face. The half-light was kind to him, turning skin to alabaster and hair to rivers of liquid ebony, his long, thin limbs shining white as the stars. Definitely a creature of the night, thought Aziraphale. His stomach turned as he remembered how horribly true that was. Bad angel...He shouldn't. That much was obvious. The others wouldn't approve at all. But then, thought Aziraphale wretchedly, the others weren't so awfully lonely. And the others had never met Crowley.  
  
Crowley lay as still as he could. He itched to run his fingers through the dishevelled mess of fair hair, to brush away the errant grains of sand on the angel's face. This upset him a little. He willed his arms to stay by his sides, satisfying himself with studying Aziraphale. It had been such a long time, he realised, since he'd looked, really *looked* at the angel. At anyone besides himself, in fact. Crowley took stock of the Enemy: arms, legs, head, all there. Eyes a little more tired than usual, but maybe that was just the moment. A thin scar like a thread of white silk along the cheekbone- that was new. When had that happened? And why did he care? (This was quite possibly the silliest question Crowley had ever asked, were he to admit it to himself) Apart from that, Aziraphale looked much the same as he'd looked ever since they'd taken human form. No, not quite. He was a little more plump than when Crowley had seen him last (Crowley made a half-hearted mental note to tease Aziraphale about this later, before deciding that it looked rather good on the angel). And something else...a look in his eyes, maybe, or the twist of his smile. Hard to say. Something that had definitely not been there until this moment.  
  
"So," said Aziraphale hesitantly.  
  
"So."  
  
"Do you mind if I ask- why did you do that?"  
  
Crowley fought to keep himself from blushing. Damn body. Who's your boss? Yeah. "Jumping in? Don't know. I suppose...because you were trying. I mean, I know a bit about angels-"  
  
"I should think you ought," murmured Aziraphale.  
  
"Not nearly enough."   
  
Crowley blinked. Had he just said that? Yes, you bloody idiot, of course you did. "I mean, you start to forget, after a while. It all sort of turns into this blur of, of, trumpets and giving thanks and shiny things. Anyway," he hurried on, "I *know* angels. They usually just sort of flit about and say "Thy will be done" and take whatever He throws at them. But you...you try. Try to make sense of things. Sometimes, at least. And it's a good thing."  
  
Aziraphale felt absurdly pleased. "I suppose you meant that as a compliment. I-" he paused and shivered slightly as a stronger breeze blew across them. Without thinking, Crowley reached out a hand to the angel's arm.   
  
Oh, bugger.  
  
"Um. Are you...cold?" asked Crowley The Idiot. Aziraphale said nothing -possibly it was all he *could* say just now- but he nodded.   
  
Well, it's too late to stop now. Crowley wrapped his arm a shade tighter around Aziraphale, who surprised him by wriggling into the embrace. So Crowley wriggled closer. Then they wriggled together, and somehow Aziraphale ended up with his head and shoulders resting on Crowley's chest, the demon's arms wrapped protectively around him, long fingers twined in his hair. There was a slightly awkward silence, and Aziraphale shivered again.  
  
"Oh, sorry," muttered Crowley. "I forgot; I'm not very warm." He usually didn't bother with things like body temperature -after all, who hugs something with scales?- but the soft heat of Aziraphale's body reminded him. Crowley's body adjusted, and he thawed somewhat. "Better?"  
  
Aziraphale merely nodded again, then made a little pleased noise and pressed closer. And thus it was that Crowley found himself grinning stupidly up at the stars, drawing in deeply the salty tang left on the angel's skin, mixed with sand and night air and something else that was entirely Aziraphale. They lay until the stars burned like flaming ice in the sky, and the yellow moon hung full and heavy over the water.   
  
And Crowley thought. And Crowley realised. And Crowley clutched Aziraphale even tighter, and tried not to let the tears come.  
  
"Crowley," said Aziraphale eventually.  
  
"?"  
  
"We shouldn't be doing this."  
  
"Stop it."  
  
"I mean it. What if something happens? What if you get in trouble?"  
  
What if *I* get in trouble? Stupid angel. Lovely, lovely, silly, hopeful angel. "It doesn't matter now. Nothing matters now. The floods'll come, and-"  
  
"Oh, Crowley!" Aziraphale swivelled around with surprising dexterity to face him (an arrangement which, Crowley couldn't help but notice, placed them both in a rather compromising position). "I told you to stop that. It'll be all right. I promise."  
  
Crowley smiled sadly. "No, it won't. It really won't. I've been thinking, Angel, and I've figured something out. It's a great holy rain thing from Him, yes?"  
  
"Well, yes."  
  
"Think about it, Aziraphale." The angel's eyes remained blank. "It's a *holy* flood. Meaning it's made up of-"  
  
"Oh." Aziraphale's voice was leaden. "Holy water. Of course."  
  
"You see? So it really doesn't matter what I try to do- in just a little while, there'll be nothing left of this Tempter but a slimy puddle. If that. So," Crowley tried unsuccessfully to sound lighthearted, "Let's make the most of it, shall we?" He reached his arms up around the angel-   
  
"No."  
  
"No?" Crowley blinked, his eyes suddenly full of hurt confusion.  
  
"No," repeated Aziraphale firmly, shaking his head for emphasis.  
  
"But, I-" The bottom was rapidly falling out of Crowley's newly discovered world. "I thought you wanted to- wanted me..."  
  
"Oh, I do! Of course I do. I was talking about what you said. I know it looks just a little grim," Aziraphale took a once-again icy hand in his, stroking it tenderly. "But if you feel how I think you feel, and how I know *I* feel, then you're not going to die. Because I'm not going to let you. I promised, remember?" Crowley gaped at the angel perched defiantly on his chest.   
  
"...how?" was all he could say. There had been resolve in Aziraphale's voice, a quiet determination that had rung in the still night air like the clash of steel on steel.  
  
"We'll think of something," Aziraphale smiled, and leaned down.   
  
As they kissed, the taste of him drove all remnants of fear from Crowley. He pushed up to the angel, taking in all he could. He wanted to remember every detail, every nuance of this. Much as he wanted to believe Aziraphale, he couldn't help but wonder if this would be the last, as well as the first, time that they would touch like this. Even if it is, he thought happily, it's bloody well worth it.  
  
It was unclear which of them broke first- certainly, they both seemed reluctant. Aziraphale licked his lips slowly, and smiled. "You know, dear," he said softly, "I think I'm beginning to see what all the fuss is about."  
  
Crowley flipped himself over in a single movement to reverse their positions. He grinned wickedly down at the surprised angel, delighting in the tension of the moment. "Promises or no, Angel, I'll take what I can get now. And if you thought that was all right-" the tip of a long, agile finger traced over Aziraphale's mouth, "Just you wait and see what comes next." 


End file.
